


Worshipper

by parasailing



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parasailing/pseuds/parasailing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That idiot boy can't get it through his thick skull that they're not living in a crappy romantic comedy and no, he will not drive over and save his stupid cat from a tree, that only happens in television. And the boy doesn't even own a cat.</p><p>AU in which Rivaille is a firefighter and things aren't as fluffy as they sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worshipper

When Rivaille is nineteen, a married couple moves in next door. They bring two snotty kids with them. He tolerates the family enough, so long as he doesn't have to interact with them at all. It's unavoidable of course, though he tries to prolong the meeting as long as he can by staying at the station longer, finding things to do that require his absence from his house.

Erwin notices a few nights in when Rivaille is still hanging around the station, cleaning. 

“It's not your shift,” Erwin comments idly, stuffing his helmet away as he runs thick coarse fingers through matted hair. Rivaille straightens from where he is mopping the floor, stuffs it back in the basin. 

“Is it because of the family that moved in next door to you?” Erwin says. 

“You've been keeping tabs on me again?” Rivaille asks instead of answering. The other man shakes his head. 

“No,” Erwin says, shedding his heavy suit, “the father's a famous doctor. A miracle worker from wherever they came from.” A pause as the chief scrutinizes his subordinate's baggy eyes and bland expression. Firefighters have to operate without much sleep in the first place, provided the beds at the station are no comfort and there's always something going on, but when you're off duty you should be relishing the time.

“You should go home and welcome them properly,” Erwin suggests, and leaves no room for argument.  
-  
Rivaille is watching television when the doorbell rings. It is an unfamiliar rusty sound that hurts his ears. No one he is acquainted with uses the doorbell. Rivaille mutes the television, tilts his head back to listen closely. He can hear a flurry of movements outside, a reprimanding voice and something baggy being brushed aside. Rivaille entertains the thought of ignoring them and going back to the news. 

Except his windows provide a perfect view of what he's doing and there's nothing good about the news. The boy sighs and walks out into the hallway to the front door. His hand's on the doorknob when something heavy slams against it outside. 

“Eren!” a sharp voice chides, “that's rude. Don't make such bad impressions, especially when we just moved here.” Too late, Rivaille thinks wryly.

“But he's taking too long,” something whines. Rivaille opens the door just to see the boy pressed against the door stumble and collapse at his feet. The brat lands on his knees, hands sprawled against Rivaille's bare feet. Immediately the boy jumps off, crawls back on his elbows as he looks up. 

“I'm really sorry about Eren,” the woman in front of Rivaille says, and another bratty girl helps the boy up. The woman offers him a plate of warm cookies. 

“Here,” she says, “as a 'please take care of us as good neighbors!' gift. We actually got here a week ago but I just noticed the car in your driveway.” Rivaille accepts it reluctantly. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?  
“Thank you,” he says after an awkward pause, in which Eren manages to find his self-confidence and puffs out his chest proudly. 

“Me and Mikasa made it, so you better like it,” Eren declares, and Rivaille doesn't comment 'that's probably why it looks like dog shit'. The Mikasa girl gives him a dry look, pulling up her scarf to cover the lower half of her face, like she knows what he's thinking. Well, she looks like she has some form of intelligence so she must be somewhat self-aware. The family lingers outside after Eren's declaration awkwardly. Oh, right. He's supposed to invite them inside. 

“Are your parents home?” the woman inquires as Eren tries to peek around Rivaille's legs. 

“I live by myself,” Rivaille says and some form of grim understanding dashes across the woman's face before it softens. 

“I'm Carla,” she says, gestures to the children respectively. “Eren, Mikasa. Say hi.” 

“You live by yourself?” Eren exclaims instead, a new kind of awe in his voice, “but you're not old at all! Or, well, at least you're not big.” Carla looks duly horrified and Rivaille bites back the stingy retort on his tongue. 

“Hello,” Mikasa interjects, grasping the cuff of Eren's sleeve. Rivaille notes the movement out the corner of his eye, but ignores the children. 

“I'm Rivaille,” he says. The woman, Carla, blinks at the name. 

“Ah, so you're the firefighter we have in the neighborhood, and so young too,” Carla says, smiles warmly. “It makes my husband and I very happy to know that we're safe with our children here.” 

Rivaille doesn't comment on the fact that without the standard supplies he has when he's on duty, all he can help with is a hose and calling the station. Even with his training he's not supposed to act without the right equipment, though he's never been one to pay particular mind to authority. He hopes they're not that stupid to think to act carelessly with him around. 

“What's a firefighter?” Eren asks, tugging on his mother's skirt. 

“What it sounds like,” Rivaille interjects blandly, “I fight fires.” Carla gives Rivaille an odd look, doesn't turn to look at Eren when she responds. 

“Firefighters put out fires and save people's lives. They take risks and everything for us. You should be grateful, Eren, he might save your life someday.” 

The boy stares up at him when his mother finishes speaking, eyes wide and something like hero worship starting to curve his lips. He's never liked those types but, he supposes, as the boy bows deeply to a comical effect and blurts out his thanks, it's tolerable from him. Rivaille has a feeling he'll be living next to them for a while, he might as well get used to it, or wait for it to dull. Mikasa mutters her thanks as well, repeating Eren's gesture. 

“Don't mention it,” Rivaille dismisses and Eren straightens with his mouth open to speak, “ever.” Eren's face drops and Mikasa frowns slightly, glances from Eren to Rivaille with a mar in her brow.  
“Well, that's enough for introductions,” Carla says. “It was nice to meet you, Rivaille. If you should ever need help with anything, feel free to ask.” The mother turns around and gesticulates for her children to follow. They bounce after her, Eren inquiring if there were any more children in the neighborhood. Just as he's about to shut the door, Eren turns around with an exclamation. 

“One day, I'll become a firefighter just like you! And we can put out all the fires together and save everyone!” Eren shouts, hands balling into fists. 

“Is that so,” Rivaille drawls, and the boy's head bobs up and down quickly. “We'll see.” 

The statement is meant to be discouraging but it only makes the boy smile at Rivaille's acknowledgment and turn around to catch up to his waiting family. He should really get a gate, Rivaille thinks as he closes the door. He dumps the plate of cookies on his kitchen counter and returns to the TV. 

Later, when he's hungry enough, he eats the cookies. They're not half bad.  
-  
The years following after that are largely marred by Eren's strange obsession with pissing Rivaille off. It's not on purpose, as he comes to understand, just the boy's way to show affectionate appreciation (although why, is another question altogether). It becomes so common and unfortunately, normal, that Rivaille can feel the indents in his house, in his life, carefully constructed by Eren's fingers. 

When it's hot out, he makes sure there's popsicles in his freezer so when Eren budges into his house along with his entourage, he doesn't make a racket and complain and totally destroy the peaceful environment Rivaille has going for his home. Rivaille realizes that it's mostly peaceful because it's so empty, so quiet. And when the children scurry around his kitchen, playing whatever game (somehow he hasn't realized he's signed up to be their babysitter), and he's lifting weights by himself in the other room, he thinks there might be a different shades of peace, of happiness. 

Usually, he accustoms peace to something quiet and innocent, a stillness in a portrait that doesn't move and shout and scream and burn. Or a strange melancholy as he trains and does drills. But as noises shift through him, around him, laughter and childish arguments (a tasteless sound, to be sure, he's never been fond of children ever since he was one), like a movie, constantly moving, constantly changing, he thinks this peace is a shade he can allow. 

This is just a small instance, a small example of Eren's influence. Yes, the boy agitates him a lot, too much if he's recalling the time the boy managed to land a baseball through his window (it doesn't even make sense, they weren't playing with it), or the time he returned home to a dog tracking all over his house (he detests animals). Or most of the times, really. But then the boy says something stupid like, “I just wanna be like you. Not like you exactly. But just save people for the sake of saving people. Not to be cool.” 

“Whoever joins the force expecting to be cool is fucking touched in the head,” Rivaille replies easily, surfing through the channel as he lounges on his couch. He doesn't remember if he should be cursing in front of kids. His childhood was very different. Eren who is sitting on the floor, back pressed against the front of the couch, tips his head back with a bemused expression. A pause.

“Oh, right,” Eren says, “I get it. Cool, hot, fire, firefighting. Ha. Ha. Ha.” 

Rivaille doesn't tell him he's serious, but he thinks the thirteen year old gets the point anyways. He can tell by the way his features stiffen slightly, and Eren jerks his head forward to return his attention to his homework. Rivaille finds a documentary about sharks. It's pretty stupid, considering the fact that Rivaille will probably never see the sea, nor its occupants, but stupid things are entertaining sometimes so he drops the remote and makes himself comfortable. 

“My mother doesn't want me to be a firefighter,” Eren speaks up quietly, shifting uncomfortably at the topic, “she says it's too dangerous.” 

Rivaille doesn't reply. The show's (it's around the part when there's a tornado of sharks that he realizes it's not a documentary) just gotten to the good part where the group of teens just realized that no, that fin wasn't John being a dumbass again. Who John is, Rivaille forgets. Eren's sighing, brushing his books and homework aside as he abandons the pretense of ever focusing on it. 

“I know, she's being selfish,” Eren scowls, “you guys sacrifice yourselves all the time, and it's my choice anyways-” 

“She gets to be selfish,” Rivaille interjects, mutes the television. “She's your mother.” Hell if he knows, he doesn't really deserve a say. Still, if it can muddle that strange infatuation Eren has, he'll do it. 

“But, she admires you a lot, all of you guys,” Eren says, referring to his squad that had come over that one time and Eren found out, invited over his whole family. “She's willing to let other people's sons and daughters risk their lives, but not her own son. Or daughter.” He adds as an afterthought. Rivaille sighs, turns off the TV.

“Did you really think their parents were any different?” Rivaille prompts, that usual glower returning to his face, “or do you think you're mother's favorite? That you're special?” Eren's eyes widen at the harsh tone that colors Rivaille's usual drawl. 

“They didn't join because their parents didn't want them to,” he continues, “they joined despite it. You're just a little kid, your choice doesn't exist, it's just a bunch of ideas something put in your head.” 

Eren looks wounded and sometimes, Rivaille forgets he's talking to a child, to a human being that is still growing and changing instantly and isn't that how you form thoughts anyways? Stealing a handful of ideas to create an original one. Everyone does it. The injured look is replaced by a heated one, a determined glower. 

“I'm not doing this because of you,” Eren responds with fervor, almost spits out the words, “I'm doing this because I want to. Just because I was six years old and I worshiped you, doesn't mean I agree now.” (But the boy does, oh he does. He holds a grudging respect from that aspect. But this worship is different now; dangerous, raw and young, and Rivaille doesn't realize what it is, or refuses to acknowledge the lingering touches, the too long stares. This isn't hero worship. This is sin). 

“I just trust you,” Eren follows quietly. “It'd be nice to be on your squad but it doesn't matter. As long as I do something.” Rivaille pulls his lips back in a grimace, something resembling pity stuck in the curve. 

“Trust is built on both sides,” Rivaille says snidely, “and you're lacking. Do I trust you to not turn your back on me? Do I trust you to risk your life for mine? Yes, you're too damn stupid to do otherwise.” The man's sitting up now, his casual manner replaced with a sharp biting tongue.  
“I can't trust you to focus on the mission,” Rivaille says. “I can't trust you to remember that you're fighting to save lives, to prevent more loss, not to risk more damage by turning back to a team member. That is after, everyone knows it as soon as they put on the helmet. They know the risks. Can you say you'll listen to them?” He doesn't really expect an answer. Rivaille thinks of broad shoulders, a distant guarded look, and his own silence after.

“Lock the door when you leave,” Rivaille says with a languid wave and stands up to move to his bedroom. “My shift starts in the morning.” 

“What do you do then?” Eren says, and his voice sounds strangled in his throat. He takes a moment to clear it. “What do you think when you fail?” When someone's gone? 

“Nothing,” Rivaille answers and later, he can hear Eren tearing his frustration out in his vocals, but never the furniture, never the house, never Rivaille. It is almost enough to make him regret his words, but reality stays his mind. Reality stays everything.  
-  
The doorbell rings. Rivaille waits for a sufficient amount of time to pass before going to the front door. Not to look like he's been expecting anyone. When he opens the door, he doesn't see bright wild eyes, just dull flat ones. Rivaille scrutinizes the man standing before him carefully. He looks tired, baggy eyes and unmanageable stubble. 

“What?” Rivaille says, eyes the box under the man's arm expectantly. 

“Ah, are you Dr. Yeager?” the man queries, shifting the box under his arm and pushing his foggy glasses up his nose. He gives Rivaille a once-over, skeptical.

“Who's asking?” Rivaille asks, he doesn't see any tacky name tag, or company logo. The man frowns just as an arm snakes out and grabs the box. The man stumbles back in surprise, and Eren sets the box down beside his feet carefully. 

“My father's not home right now,” Eren says, “and my mother's busy. I'll speak for them.” Mikasa has joined the boy today, eying the man in suspicion. Good to see someone has brains. The man dusts his pants off where he had fallen, offers an anxious smile. 

“Just a delivery, that's all,” the man preens, turns around to stare at Eren's house, “I must have gotten the wrong house.” 

“Who's it from?” Eren says, narrowing his eyes. The man opens his mouth as if struggling for the right words before bolting. The children move to follow and chase but Rivaille puts out a hand to stop them, kicks the box far into the yard. 

Someone had dropped off the man, he had heard the car idling outside before. He had assumed it was another neighbor of some sort, but he doesn't like being wrong. The car could still be waiting nearby, watching. He's about to usher them inside his house when he remembers Carla, curses and helps them cross the fence and enter through the back door. He doesn't want to leave the box lying in his yard, and he's not helpless but he decides it's better to make sure the children are secure before trying anything. 

“Mother?” Mikasa calls out, drowned out by Eren's insistent shouts of “Mother!” Carla rushes into the room immediately, face flushed with concern.  
“What is it? What's wrong?” she says as the children crush against her legs. Rivaille doesn't answer, pulls out his phone and dials the police. Carla understands in an instant (he still has to figure out the why) and scrambles to the home phone stashed on the counter, repeats Rivaille's words into the phone. Afterward, she doesn't ask for explanations, merely calls her husband. 

No one answers.  
-  
Later when the police has dispatched and taken the family off to some sort of safe house, Rivaille calls over a few familiar faces. The media hasn't caught on yet (and hopefully never), the neighborhood is the comfy cozy kind of neighborhood, where everyone looks out for each other. It's never been more convenient. 

They arrive with one member short. 

“Sorry,” Hanji yawns, stretches out on the grass, “Erwin's busy with something. Said he couldn't come.” 

Mike clambers out of the car slowly, as if he were still half-asleep. Judging from his appearance, it seems like a good assessment. 

“Doesn't matter,” Rivaille says curtly, explains the situation in clipped sentences. Then, he looks over at the box sprawled over by the bushes. Hanji straightens in interest and Mike sniffs experimentally. 

“Nothing seems off,” Mike says, “it smells like a box.” 

“Well, that's because it's a box,” Hanji replies, “maybe you can't smell more because they coated it in something box-smelling.” It's a direct insult to Mike's pride but Hanji grins easily, and Rivaille grows aggravated. 

“Calm down,” Hanji says, slapping on some gloves, “I've done worse than a suspicious box.” Hanji ambles over to the box casually, tips it over with a toe. When nothing goes off, Hanji slips on a mask and bends down. No eye goggles unfortunately, so shitty glasses will have to do. Mike has migrated over to stand behind her, nose wrinkling. He says nothing though. 

Rivaille examines the setting carefully to make sure no one's watching. For some reason, everyone had forgotten about the box (to be fair, the children had other things on their mind) so it went unmentioned in the reports. He knows it's evidence, and they could find prints, anything, but he also remembers his own experience with sirens and nice men with badges and he decides Hanji is better than them anyways. 

Besides, what he plans to do is not legal and he doesn't need anymore people on his case. He's had enough of that. Hanji stumbles back and drops the box. Mike stands still. 

“What?” Rivaille snaps, when it's obvious Hanji isn't talking. 

“It's empty,” Hanji says, before going back to examine the box more closely. There's nothing there. After a while, Hanji sets the box back to its original position. “Empty.” 

Hanji stands up and turns around with a grim expression. “Honestly, it would have been better to find something threatening in there. Or if someone had come in and tampered with it while you were away. But that's not scenarios we can indulge in right now. The person who delivered this had no intention of actually delivering anything substantial or dangerous.” 

Hanji stares at Eren's house with a thoughtful look. “They were making sure they had the right address.”  
-  
Nothing happens for the next few months despite Rivaille's meticulous observations and research. He tries searching for that man (he had to go to the station to get him sketched out, for all the good it did). The police get nowhere and are convinced that the family can return home, safe and sound. They'll keep a look out but for now, the case is closed. Rivaille isn't there to see them come home. 

But the coordinates are familiar enough that he jumps into action quickly.  
-  
They don't get there fast enough. Rivaille slips on his mask and moves towards the back where the fire is eating away slowly. His small stature is convenient and he's strong enough that any inconvenience it causes he makes up for. There's only enough space and risk for Petra and Rivaille today, who can slip in easier than the others. 

Rivaille throws out his hand to stop just as the small part of the ceiling in front of them caves, flames licking and heating up in enthusiasm. Rivaille is already familiar with the house and leads his team member through the kitchen, smashing the door down easily enough. Despite the masks they still wait for the smoke to dull slightly. 

There are screams littered upstairs and Rivaille sees that the stairs are not in the worst condition compared to the rest of the house. He knows the kids are not stuck in a specific room, he thinks he's familiar enough with them that he knows one of them would have jumped out the window already. He's about to move towards the stairway when he hears a groan from the living room, a familiar voice calling for Eren and Mikasa. 

“Get the kids,” Rivaille demands, gesturing to Petra to move along. “I'll take care of this.” 

Petra nods firmly and moves as Rivaille makes his way to Carla, careful not to stomp heavily. She's stuck under some mangled piece of shit that might have been a piano in its former life, and she spots him just as he comes to a stop before her. It's not a lost cause, he can smash the thing to smaller pieces quickly enough, though she might get struck with some of it. And he's risking disturbing the lower half of her body and destroying it more. He comes to a decision quickly enough, he has no time to second guess when they have to worry about smoke inhalation. 

Carla grabs his hand just as he's moving for his ax, squeezes with all her strength though it's not much. 

“Please, save my children. Leave me, just make sure they get out,” she coughs, and her palm is burning, Rivaille can feel it through his thick gloves. Vaguely, he wonders if she can see who it is through the mask. 

“Don't be stupid,” Rivaille snaps, “we have time for both.” Just then Petra is coming downstairs, the children following right behind her. Petra clears the way and doesn't look at Rivaille as she passes, and Rivaille turns his attention back to Carla, drops her hand. He hears a choked gasp somewhere behind him, a body collapsing to the floor. 

“Eren!” Petra calls out, stops. Shit, he thinks, as he tests out the piano with his boot. Carla doesn't wince at him as he does, so he supposes the movement doesn't bother her lower half (probably can't even feel anything anymore), or she's too bothered with Eren's collapse. 

“Leave him!” Rivaille shouts as he lifts his ax. He'll be able to get them both and he doesn't need the risk of anything else collapsing. He doesn't hear Petra answer and he curses, turns around. Mikasa is charging for Eren's prone form, and she makes it, feet denting the floorboard in. Her face is relieved as she moves to pick him up. 

“Please,” Carla groans. 

Rivaille drops his ax, dives after the kids when the floorboards sag, break. He doesn't wince when a board manages to fuck up his arm, only throws Eren over to Petra who leaves immediately. Mikasa is staring after them with wide eyes. 

“Move,” Rivaille snaps harshly, and the command gets her on her feet again, and they dash around the hole, move for fresh air. The paramedics rush to take care of Mikasa, and Rivaille examines his damaged arm with distaste. The people bustle about him, asking him to step aside for the moment and he does. Stares at the house as they hose it down. 

It's been more than fifteen minutes, if the house didn't get her then the smoke has. A paramedic finally notices his state and helps him remove his heavy suit to treat the arm. 

He stands there, arm wrapped around a pathetic excuse for a sling, and thinks of nothing at all.  
-  
They find more than one body. The fire hadn't been an accident. Later, they discover that Mikasa and Eren managed to kill the three intruders by themselves. They can't question dead people though, so as to why is still left unanswered. He thinks it's because of their father, the oh so famous doctor must have moved his family for a reason. Carla hadn't been surprised, only worried when she found out. 

Rivaille tests out his fingers and thinks of nothing and everything all at once.  
-  
The children have a distant relative in another state. They leave before Rivaille realizes it.  
-  
“They're docking our pay again,” Erwin says as Rivaille leans against his desk, “people are starting to question our overtime and such.” 

“Pieces of shit,” Rivaille replies casually. His arm is still healing but he visits the station anyways. 

“It's because of the Yeagers. They were popular apparently,” Erwin says, “so the media actually covered this one.” Just because the media covered it, huh. Rivaille thinks of all the other incidents that went unmentioned except for the affected family and friends, sighs, flushes it from his mind. 

“Go home and rest,” Erwin suggests, and leaves no room for argument.  
-  
There's some ice cream left in his freezer. It's the flavor he despises, so he knows the Eren had only left it for Eren to eat. It's from before, then. Rivaille throws it away.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be the backstory. But it somehow turned into 4000 words of crap because I actually know nothing about firefighters or the police or anything really. Next chapter is a lot more happy after they get over a few problems (by which I mean a lot). I'll think of a better summary later.
> 
> Edit: It's actually Erwin, my bad.


End file.
